to receive her new fellow-countrymen.
So far, on such occasions, she had always dressed very simply, since it
had seemed to her both undignified and superfluous to attempt to dazzle
"ignorant half-savages." But even the last time she had noticed how the
magic she could shed upon her guests was reflected back upon herself. So
that today she had yielded to temptation and chosen her most elaborate
evening frock. ("Oh, well," she had thought as she examined it, "it dates
from last spring, and at home I shouldn't dare show my nose in it.") After
some hesitation, since the frock itself was so resplendent, she had also
decided to wear jewefry. The effect of this deliberate decision, of which
she had at first been rather ashamed, surprised even her. It is pleasant
enough to be a beautiful woman among many, but the feeling soon wears
off. In lighted restaurants one is only a pretty member of a beauty
chorus. But to be the unique, the yellow-haired châtelaine, among all
these dark, glittering-eyed Armenians -- that surely was no everyday
fate! It was an experience, bringing back the flush of youth, a glow to
the lips, a light of triumph to the eyes.
Gabriel found his wife surrounded by humble, dazzled admirers. When
Juliette moved, he recognized again her "sparkling step," as he once
had called it. Juliette, here in Yoghonoluk, seemed to have found her
way into the hearts of his simple-minded compatriots, though in Europe
she had often jibbed at the society of the most cultivated Armenians.
And strangest of all . . . In Beirut, overtaken by the war, without
any chance to get back home, Gabriel had been haunted by the fear
that Juliette would be devoured with homesickness. France was fighting
the worst battles in her history. European newspapers seldom reached
that corner of the world. One was entirely cut off, could find out
nothing. Till now only one letter, dated November, had reached them,
by many long detours. From Juliette's mother. Lucky that at least she
had no brothers. Her marriage with a foreigner had estranged her a little
from her family. Be that as it might, her present tranquil frivolity had
come as a great surprise to Gabriel. She seldom seemed to think about
home. In this fourteenth year of their married life the unhoped-for
seemed to have taken place.
And indeed there was something essentially new in her, as she put her arms
round his neck. "At last, mon ami, I was just beginning to be anxious."
She began to be concerned with his hunger and thirst, almost to the point
of exaggeration. But Gabriel had no time to eat. He was surrounded.
Naturally that morning's official inspection had not passed without
leaving some trace on people's minds. The very fact that the Turkish
authorities should have chosen a Sunday -- the hour of high mass --
for their visit, might itself be considered a hostile sign. An omen of
intricate hostility.
But the Musa Dagh colony had been almost spared in the bloody events of
1896 and 1909. Yet such men as Kebussyan and the little pastor of Bitias
were sharp-eared enough to become alert at the slightest suspicious rustling.
Only this evening-party and Juliette's radiant presence had been enough to
distract them from such troubling of their peace. Now, as, remembering his
promise, Gabriel repeated the müdir's words -- that this was no more
than a general wartime measure -- they all, Kebussyan, Nokhudian,
the schoolmasters, had of course long since answered the riddle themselves.
They became light-heartedly optimistic. The most hopeful of all was
Shatakhian. He drew himself up to his full height. The Middle Ages were
over, he opined, addressing his glowing words to Madame Bagradian.
The sun of progress would rise, even over Turkey. This war was its crimson
dawn. The Turkish government was under the surveillance of its allies.
Shatakhian glanced expectantly at Juliette. Had he not acclaimed progress
in faultless